Triggers
by GirlInTheMirror121
Summary: "They all had triggers after that day. Hear their stories. Never forget." T for violence. PTSD and trigger warnings. After a familiar face shoots up McKinley High on a rainy day, the New Directions suffer from PTSD for the rest of their lives. KurtxBlaine, SamxRory, SantanaxBrittany.
1. Triggers

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.**

**Note: This runs in the more serious vein of The Pact. There will be at least one major character death. This story is all about TRIGGERS that couple with PTSD following a very TRAUMATIC event. If that's not for you, click the page-back button now, find a new page to look at, click the X at the upper corner of the screen, whatever. Are you still here? Good. I think you'll enjoy this, then.**

**Chapter One—Triggers**

Triggers can be anything.

For war veterans, it might be the sounds of gunshots.

For rape victims, it might be the smell of a certain cologne.

For them, the triggers were innocuous things, things that they could never think of the same way ever again, things that changed their lives forever. A bright light, a gymnasium's locker room, the scent of a girl's hair products.

They never thought it would happen to them. Not in Lima, not in their school, not to their friends and classmates.

They never thought the people who died would die and the people who lived would live.

And would you have thought it, if you were them?

They woke up that dreary, drizzling morning expecting it to be like any other rainy day: go to school, go to after-school activities, go on home and do homework. The day would drag on slowly, as rainy days tend to do, but they'd sluggishly get through it.

Then again, they say the rain is like the sky is crying, and indeed it was on that day.

A girl's dreams changed after that day.

A boy's confidence was smashed after that day.

Dozens of students were terrified to go back after that day.

A pair of parents buried their child after that day.

Somewhere, they all cry, years, decades after that day.

A girl, glancing at her calendar, notices what day it is.

She sits down at a desk and begins to write a letter that will never be sent.

After all, you can't mail a letter to someone who's dead.

The question still lingers in the air like smoke:

_Why?_

They all had their triggers after that day. Hear their stories. Never forget.

**To be continued**


	2. That Day

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.**

**Note: Oh gosh, thanks for all the story followers! I'm excited to get going on this one, I really am. Updates will come every few days, I promise. **

**A quick note on when this story takes place: just about around "Heart", sort-of between that episode and "On My Way", so February. **

**Chapter Two—That Day**

"I hate the rain," Rachel Berry sighed as she closed her locker. "It's so dreary."

"I know," Kurt Hummel agreed. "Blaine and I wanted to eat outside for lunch today, but now we can't. Oh, well. Maybe some other time."

Rachel smiled softly. "How are you and Blaine these days?"

Kurt nodded briefly. "We're good. He's worried about me leaving for college, though. I keep reassuring him that there's no way I could ever date another man other than him, but I'm not so sure he entirely believes me. I want him to, though."

She put a hand on his shoulder. "You and Blaine will be fine, Kurt. Didn't he say he'd like to join us in New York after he graduates?"

"Yes, but what if I don't get into NYADA?" Kurt squirmed. "I don't want him to be disappointed in me and be like 'oh, my boyfriend couldn't get into theatre school, what a loser.' Him and my dad; I don't want to disappoint them."

"Kurt," Rachel said gently, "look down at your hand." He did. "Now what do you see?"

Kurt giggled. "A promise ring, given to me by my handsome and dapper boyfriend."

"Exactly," she grinned. "Blaine _loves_ you. He could never be disappointed in you. And I'm sure you'll get into NYADA. I will, too. We could even be roomies!"

Kurt raised a brow. "I get to live with the great Rachel Barbra Berry? Why, I do believe this is an honor!"

She laughed and put an arm around him. "I wouldn't have it any other way!" She patted him on the back tenderly. "Hey, I'm going to meet Mercedes in the auditorium, maybe work on a duet. Want to join us?"

"No, thanks," he shook his head. "Blaine has a study hall, and we're going to hang out. I'll catch you later, though. Tell 'Cedes I say hello."

"Will do," she smiled and walked off towards her favorite place in the world: the stage.

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

"Ugh, that Cheerios practice was rough," Santana Lopez groaned, rubbing her calves.

"I know," her girlfriend, Brittany Pearce, plopped down on the bench next to her. "I don't think I'll be able to move for a week!"

Santana reached down and laced their fingers together. "Maybe we can just sit here for a while? Take a warm shower together?"

Brittany smirked. "You know I love our showers, 'Tana."

"And _you_ know I love _you_," Santana leaned over and pecked her on the cheek. "No matter what happens, I'll always love you, Britt."

Tick, tick, tick.

Quinn Fabray sighed and tapped her foot on the floor. She was dreading this oral presentation, as she'd barely worked on it and knew she wouldn't get the best grade. After all, she'd already been accepted to Yale; did she really need to study her ass off anymore? Besides, she'd been up all night thinking of the new boy, Joe Hart. She wondered if he liked her, too. She loved that he was a devout Christian—although she found it a bit weird that he named his dreadlocks after books in the Bible—and his eyes seemed to smolder into her soul. She tapped her foot faster as her classmate finished up their presentation. The teacher called her up to the front of the room. She sighed again and stood up, picking up a marker to write on the whiteboard. "The War of 1812 started as the result of…"

Tick…tick…tick…

"Hey, good game, man," Mike Chang high-fived Artie Abrams.

"Yeah," Artie agreed. "I'll have to teach you to play wheelchair basketball. I'm trying to get a team together down at the community center. Would you be down?"

"Sure," Mike shrugged. "Why not? It could be fun. Maybe we could get Puck and Finn to join us. I thought it was cool, when we did that wheelchair thing a couple years ago."

"Cool," Artie pushed his glasses up his nose. "So we—wait, did you hear that?"

Mike paused. "Hear what?"

Tick…tock…tick…tock…

Rory Flanagan was staring longingly at a piece of apple pie in the cafeteria. He'd had breakfast, but he was still hungry, and he figured why not grab a snack during his free period? He took the desired piece and paid for it quickly, bringing it to a table. Only a few other kids straggled around the lunchroom, talking amongst themselves and huddling over textbooks. He didn't mind having a few moments alone. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy being in America—he loved it—but he missed his family and friends back home. The only kids he'd really been getting along with were Sam Evans and occasionally Finn Hudson, but they were nowhere to be found. He picked up his fork, ready to dig in to the large piece of pie…

BANG!

A deafening noise caused Rory to drop his fork to the ground with a soft clatter. He looked around the room; what could've possibly made a sound like that?

Then he heard it; gunshots.

He yelped and ducked under the table, pulling his knees to his chest and attempting to make himself as small as possible. He sent a quick prayer to God that they'd all make it through this…whatever _this_ was.

From outside, a car bomb went off, blowing up the vehicle of one Blaine Anderson.

Finn Hudson only had one thought in mind: _get to Rachel. Get to Rachel. _He dodged around kids in the hall, screaming kids, crying kids, terrified kids. He could hear the occasional shot being fired and each one rang in his ears. With each bang of the gun, he prayed that it wasn't Rachel. He didn't know what he'd do if she died. He'd already lost his father, and he wasn't about to lose his fiancé, too. He knew there were two places he could find Rachel at any given moment in the school: the choir room and the auditorium. Going with his first instinct, he tore off towards the auditorium, where he found Rachel and Mercedes cowering together in the stage left wing. "Rachel, you're okay, thank God."

"F…F…Finn? Wh…what's going on?" He'd never seen her this _scared_ before.

"Someone's shooting up the school. Quick, we gotta get out of here!" He pulled Rachel to her feet with one hand and Mercedes with the other hand and led them both out the back door of the auditorium and to safety.

"Oh my God…oh my God," Tina Cohen-Chang muttered to Joe Hart, the new kid, as they heard the shots ring out from their art class.

Joe's eyes widened. "What's happening?"

She turned to him. "You've heard of Columbine, right?"

"Lord Jesus," he said softly. "We have to get out of here, uh…"

"Tina," she reminded him. "Follow me, I know a back way out!" She abandoned her painting and motioned for him to sneak out the door at the end of the hallway that would lead outside.

Needless to say, Joe wasn't exactly having a great first few weeks at public school.

Sam Evans and Noah 'Puck' Puckerman were some of the first to hear the gunshots. They looked at each other and promptly started to run. "Dude, wait," Sam said.

"Are you crazy? We gotta get the hell out of here," Puck said, panting.

"But what if someone's hurt?" Sam's eyes shifted. "What if our friends are hurt?"

Puck sighed. "You wanna be the big damn hero? Fine, we'll be the big damn heroes. But I'm telling you, Evans, if I get shot…"

"I promise, dude, I'll make it up to you. Now _come on_," Sam implored the fellow jock.

Sugar Motta would normally never admit to fear. But right now, she was terrified. She ran into—almost literally—Quinn in the hallway and grabbed her. "Quinnie, what's going on?" Her voice was unusually high-pitched, betraying her emotions.

Quinn's face was chalk-white. "It's every school's worst nightmare since Columbine over a decade ago." A shot rang out from the next hallway over, and Sugar yelped. "We need to run—_now_," Quinn insisted, dragging Sugar by the wrist down the hall and down the stairs.

"But wait—my purse!" Sugar squealed.

Quinn looked her dead in the eyes. "Is your purse worth risking your life for?"

Sugar gulped and reluctantly followed the blonde. This was something her daddy couldn't fix, no matter how much she begged.

Blaine Anderson and Kurt had been in the choir room, rehearsing for the upcoming Regionals competition. "I can't believe you had to have _eye surgery_," Kurt said.

"I know," Blaine scoffed. "I never thought Sebastian would stoop that low."

Kurt let his hands trail along the keys of the piano, softly playing the familiar melody that they'd been working on for months. "Thank you, by the way," he said quietly.

"For what?" Blaine asked.

"For taking that rock-salt Slushiee for me. You didn't have to…"

"But I love you," Blaine kissed Kurt's temple. "And you'd do it for me."

Kurt suddenly stopped playing. "What was that bang?"

"Oh, someone probably blew up something in chem lab again," Blaine shrugged. "It's probably nothing, baby."

"I'm not so sure," Kurt looked uneasy. "It sounded too loud to be a lab explosion."

Screams from the hallway brought Blaine to attention. "Kurt, get down," he said sharply. "Wha-?"

"Get _down_," Blaine threw himself over Kurt, knocking them both to the floor.

"Blaine, what the hell?"

"Someone's shooting up the school," Blaine choked out in a whisper. "And I think I have a feeling I know who it is."

"Oh my God," Kurt froze. "Oh my _God_."

"I love soaping you up," Santana moaned as her hands traveled her girlfriend's body.

"Mmm, yes," Brittany sighed in content. "Feels so good, 'Tana…"

Several other Cheerios began screaming. "Oh what _now_?" Santana grumbled, mad that they'd interrupted her shower time with Brittany. She peered outside the curtain. "What the hell, you guys?"

"Someone has a gun," a wide-eyed cheerleader told her.

"Shit," Santana swore. She pulled Brittany to the floor of the shower and wrapped her arms around her, covering her up the best she could. If they were going to die, they were going to die together. _Period_.

It was another hour before the all-clear was given. By that time, the gunman had been cornered and had shot himself in desperation. Rachel looked around frantically for her friends. She found most of them huddled around a tree near the parking lot. "Oh my God. Are you guys all okay?" They had been surrounding Mike, who was crying. She'd never seen Mike cry, and it frightened her. She did a quick head count; someone was missing, and she had a sinking feeling she knew who it was. "What…what happened?"

Tina burst into tears, burying her face in Quinn's shoulder, who put her arm around the girl comfortingly. "Artie didn't make it out," Quinn told Rachel gently.

Rachel staggered. How could this have happened?

The world seemed to be crumbling down around her.

Artie was dead, never to come back.

Their lives would never be the same now.

**To be continued…**


	3. Funeral

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.**

**Note: No reviews? Oh, pooh. Ah well. I suppose in this chapter you'll find out who the gunman was. After this, each chapter will be devoted to a member of ND up until the epilogue. **

**Chapter 3—Funeral**

_The day after_

"I just can't stop crying," Tina wept, folding herself in half.

"If it gives you any comfort," Mike said quietly, "he wanted me to tell you something before…well, you know." Tina looked up at him, eyes overflowing with tears. "He told me to tell you that he forgives you."

"Oh my God," Tina whimpered, "oh my God."

The room was silent save for the sound of the Asian girl's sobs. "What did he forgive you for?" Rachel asked gently, not wanting to push her friend further, but genuinely curious.

"I…I don't want to t…talk about it," Tina said. "E…excuse me." She quickly exited the room, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Silence. "I still can't see why he did it," Rory murmured.

"I feel entirely to blame," Kurt muttered. All heads turned towards him in confusion. "See, he and I had…talked. Remember when I thought Blaine was sending me those Secret Admirer notes? Just a week or so ago?" They nodded. "Turns out it was him, and he told me he was in love with me. I told him thanks, but I'm in love with Blaine, and why doesn't he try to move on, find someone else? I just…I think it all was too much for him. I think he was being…harassed at his new school, the way he used to harass me."

No one had the courage to speak. "That _creep_ said he was in love with you?" Puck said.

Kurt nodded miserably. "I just…I feel so responsible."

"It wasn't your fault, Kurt," Rachel said. "He was just…pushed too far, that's all."

"I don't care," Puck stood up. "That son of a bitch killed Artie!"

"But why Artie?" Santana asked. "Why not Kurt? Why not Rachel? Why not me?"

"Please don't make me talk about it," Mike whispered. "I'm not ready yet."

"I think he was targeting Blaine."

Everyone turned towards Brittany. "Do you really think so?" Quinn ventured.

Brittany shrugged. "Well, Kurt told him he was in love with Blaine, right? So he figured if he got rid of Blaine, maybe Kurt would love him instead."

"Oh my God," Blaine went pale. _Me. I'm supposed to be dead, not Artie._

"I just…I mean…" Kurt sighed. "Britt has a point. But that still doesn't explain why he would want to kill Artie."

"I think I know why," Mike said, eyes shifting. He held out a piece of paper, one that he'd found in the immediate aftermath. "I know I should've turned it in to the police…"

Sam took it and read it aloud. "Rachel, Quinn, Hudson, Puckerman…" he read each and every name of the members of New Directions, save for Joe, who had just joined. The last name on the list was Blaine's, written in capital letters, circled, and underlined several times. It was clear what his intentions had been. Thankfully, he had only managed to off one of them (although, Rachel thought mournfully, it was the wrong life). Oh sure, several kids and teachers were injured—shot through the shoulder, cut up, or bruised—but only one was dead.

"Mike, man, we gotta turn this in to the police," Finn said. "They gotta have proof."

"But what's the point? The perpetrator is dead," Quinn pointed out. "They can't convict a dead man or put him on the stand now, can they?"

"Why is Tina so upset?" Joe ventured. "Were she and Artie dating?"

"They used to," Mercedes informed him. "I dunno, maybe she still had some lingering feelings. They were real good friends even after they broke up."

"I feel _awful_," Kurt moaned, shuddering. "Artie used to be my best friend."

This was news. "_Used_ to be?" Rory asked. "What happened?"

Kurt sighed. "I've never really talked to anyone about this, but…see, my mom passed away in a car crash…coincidentally, the same car crash that left Artie paralyzed. We had been close friends in pre-school, although of course I found him to be tragically fashion-challenged. But after the accident, my father wouldn't let me play with Artie anymore. And anyway, I didn't want to forgive him. My mother died while he lived; how was that fair? But now _he's_ dead, and I just feel…I should've…cleared the air, at least."

Blaine put an arm around him. "Sweetie, it's not your fault. None of this is. If anything, it's my fault for sweeping you off your feet. Then you wouldn't have had to say no-"

"Please don't," Kurt choked out. "I just want to be alone." He uncrossed his legs, stood up, and left the room.

"Artie's funeral is in a few days. We…we should really stop fighting," Rachel said hurriedly. "And we should stop getting each other so upset if we're going to…go through with this…"

_Three days after_

"Does anyone have anything to say?" Mr. Schuester addressed the solemn group.

"No," came the collective murmur. Everyone was dressed in black to mourn their lost friend, even Joe, who had barely known Artie. Sam put a hand on Rory's knee and squeezed it. Rory gently pulled it away and stared into Sam's eyes. No, it wasn't the right time or place to tell them. Sam bit his lower lip and tried to focus on the proceedings. Artie's parents had offered his friends to take what they wanted, and Sam had ended up with his science-fiction movies. He hadn't felt right taking them, though. Wouldn't his parents want these things to remember him by? But Mrs. Abrams had insisted, knowing how much Sam enjoyed watching the movies with her son on weekends.

Sam only wished he'd been as truthful with Artie as Artie had been with him.

Tina clutched Quinn's hand and wept. She'd lost her best friend, her confidant…and her lover. Her hands fluttered to her stomach; God, why did she feel so nauseas? She figured it was due to this situation, due to seeing her beloved Artie lying in that coffin, but she'd been feeling unwell for at least a week. Still, she wept as Quinn silently and methodically handed her tissues. _Why? Why? _

"Life is so short," Rachel murmured as she laced her hand through Finn's, conscious of her glittering engagement ring. She wondered for a moment if they should move the wedding up. With life this short, why wait to get married? Why wait for happiness? She cast a sideways glance at the miserable Asian girl. She felt badly for Tina. Tina would never get to marry the love of her life. Tina would always have to live with this. Rachel shivered and instinctively moved closer to Finn.

"I'm not feeling well," Tina murmured to Quinn, and, hand pressed over her mouth, bolted from the antechamber of the funeral home and into the ladies' room. Quinn excused herself and followed the dark-haired girl. She found Tina vomiting in one of the stalls and knocked on the door carefully.

"Tina? Are you okay?"

She heard the toilet flushing, and Tina emerged. "I've just…felt a little sick this week, that's all."

Something in Quinn's stomach quivered. "Tina, you don't think you're…"

Tina froze. "Absolutely not. No, it's just…a stomach bug, that's all."

The blonde gave her a strange look. "Are you sure? You know you can tell me anything, Tina. You know I won't judge, especially after what happened to me a couple years ago."

"I'm not pregnant," Tina whispered fiercely. "It's just a virus, okay? Now leave me alone." She stormed out of the bathroom, leaving Quinn to wonder. She knew the signs of pregnancy, after all. Sure, this could've been a virus, but maybe, just maybe, there were more secrets among their little Glee Club than they were aware of…

**To be continued…**


	4. Santana

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.**

**Note: Please review? Please? Trust me, I see all of your story follows; mind dropping me a note? Anyway, this is where I'm going to start going through each character's point of view, ending with the killer himself (I am excluding Artie, however, seeing as how he's dead and can't have a 'trigger'). **

**Chapter Four—Santana**

_Dear Artie,_

_So one of us is supposed to write to you each year that you've been dead. And this is the first year, and I drew first. I'm writing this from my dorm room. I took a cheerleading scholarship down in Louisiana. It's okay, I guess, but I miss my Britt. You guys should be in your senior year right now, but because of some idiot, you're dead. But man, if you'd lived, you'd be so surprised at how much has changed…_

For Santana, it was the gunshots.

She would never forget how loud and piercing they were as she huddled in the shower, her body hovering over Brittany's, protecting her. They rang in her ears days after. At one point, she remembered they sounded really close—perhaps in the boy's locker room or in the gymnasium. She heard the screams and cries of her fellow cheerleaders, but the loudest sound of all was the sound of the gun. With each one, she wondered if someone had fallen. She wondered who was shooting and if they would find her. As soon as they'd started, she knew she would give her life for Brittany's in an instant; she just loved her that much. She could hear her heart hammering in her chest and held her girlfriend even closer. Even though the water was warm, she was trembling, hoping Brittany wouldn't notice. She buried her face in Brittany's neck, just wanting the shots to stop.

She had nightmares. Even as a kid, she'd never had nightmares. But after that day, it seemed like there were seventeen years of nightmares to catch up on. She'd awake screaming for her mother, who would hold her as she trembled and tried not to cry. All she heard in those dreams were the gunshots, the approaching footsteps, Brittany, lying dead and cold on the floor, even when Santana was fully conscious of the fact that Brittany had survived the actual shooting. She never told her friends about the nightmares, lest they think she was a wimp and couldn't handle herself.

That was always the way Santana was: strong on the outside, scared on the inside. Growing up in Lima Heights Adjacent, she'd long ago learned how to hide her emotions and put on a brave face while walking about in public. She learned to save her tears for the pillow, and even then only sparingly. Tears were a sign of weakness, something to let your enemies know what you were most vulnerable to so they could use it against you. Even at her graduation, somewhere she thought she'd never be, she didn't feel anything but bitterness and sadness. She could hardly be in that locker room again without jumping every time a locker slammed shut, for it reminded her too closely of the gunshots.

After awhile, she seemed to have gotten over her fear. She was okay, cruising through life at college. True, she hadn't exactly wanted to go in with a cheer scholarship, but

she didn't really have much of a choice. It was that or nothing at all. She didn't even have Brittany, who was forced to repeat her senior year. Truth be told, Santana would much rather have gone into show business—or at least, she thought she had, until after that day. She was seriously considering a career in criminal justice now. Not as a police officer or anything, but maybe someone else in a law office.

She took a few introductory criminal justice classes just to test the waters. They seemed interesting enough, and she had some pretty wild sexual fantasies that involved her, Brittany, and a pair of handcuffs. One day in class, they watched an episode of CSI: Miami. Santana hadn't really watched the show before—she wasn't much of a television person—and she wasn't sure what to expect. In the episode, a killer hunted his prey, gunshots ringing out in the abandoned building they were running in. Her brown eyes widened with fear, and she whimpered softly, looking for a way out. It was too soon; it hadn't even been a year since the shooting. As the gunshots on the show got progressively louder, the shots playing in her mind got nearer and more deafening. She gathered her books quickly and bolted out the door, collapsing in a nearby corner, arms pulled over her head, beginning to cry. She got a few curious looks from her classmates as they exited the room, but no one dared to talk to her or ask her what was wrong.

Everything seemed to be okay again until later in the semester when one of her classes discussed school shootings, detailing Columbine and Virginia Tech. She sank lower and lower into her chair. As long as she didn't have to see it, she would be okay. She focused on her breathing: in and out, in and out. Her professor clicked a video on the PowerPoint they had been taking notes off of.

No, too soon, still too soon.

Santana began to tremble. The screams and bangs from the gun on the video were almost as loud as the screams and bangs in her mind. She felt as if she'd been punched hard in the stomach. Surely there was a way out of this…nope, the professor had noticed. He paused the video. "Miss Lopez, is there something wrong?"

"No, I…this is a bit…overwhelming," she admitted.

"And why is that?"

"Because," she looked around the room cautiously. "I'm a school shooting survivor."

Silence, complete standstill silence. "Excuse me?"

"This…jerk…came in and starting shooting at my high school. One of my…um, friends, I guess…he died. I found out later that I was…I was on the hit list." She swallowed. "And this video, this subject, it reminded me too much of it. That wasn't even a year ago. It's too soon, Professor. I'm sorry," she stood up, gathering her things. "May I be excused?"

He nodded. "Yes, of course." She headed towards the door. "Miss Lopez?" She turned around, holding her breath. "I'm sorry to hear about your friend."

She nodded. "Thank you," she said quietly. She hurriedly exited the classroom and walked double-time to her dorm, grateful her roommate was out. She dazedly sat on the bed. Had she really referred to Artie as her friend? She sighed, casting her gaze around the room, eyes settling on her bookcase. She went towards it and pulled that year's _Thunderclap_ out, thumbing through its pages. There it was: the tribute page to Artie, the only kid not to survive the shooting. A lump rose in Santana's throat as she saw the pictures of him with the Club, of him with Tina, of him laughing with Mercedes. God, why was she doing this? Artie had tried to steal her woman. She shouldn't be feeling this upset about his death. Then again, maybe Santana was just feeling a little bit guilty.

She had almost forgotten—or at least, was desperately trying to forget—for a few years. There were less anxiety attacks and the feeling of impending doom dissipated. Years later, she married Brittany in New York, where their love was legal and free. Santana had never been happier, but as she looked out among her high school friends in attendance, she couldn't shake the feeling that something—or someone—was missing. Sure, she'd never really liked Artie or talked to him without threatening him, but there was no reason for him to die so cruelly. Mike still refused to talk about the details, and she strongly suspected that he never would fully reveal what happened in the locker room on that day. As she was on her honeymoon with Brittany, she heard a car backfiring from the street below. The sound was so strikingly similar to a gunshot, and she whimpered and buried her head in the sheets. "Baby, what's wrong?"

"Too much," Santana managed through her tears.

"Our marriage?" Brittany asked, confused. "Oh, that noise that car made? Does it remind you of…that day?" They had all taken to calling it 'that day' since it happened. Santana nodded miserably, and Brittany took her new wife in her arms. "I'm sorry, baby. None of us have been the same since that day, no matter how much we don't want to admit it."

"Every time I hear a gunshot," Santana said shakily, "I think of them coming closer and closer, near to where we were hiding. I thought…I thought we were gonna die, Britt."

The blonde stroked the brunette's hair. "I thought so, too," she murmured.

Even into her late fifties, Santana would have anxiety attacks when she heard gunshots. Her children understood, and would calm her down when they came around. And every once in a while, she'd think of Artie and say a prayer for him.

But whenever she heard the guns coming for them, even she couldn't hide her emotions.

_Artie? Please tell my abuelo hello, wherever you are. He died a few years ago. I was always his special girl. Thanks. _

_-Santana_

_P. S. I'm sorry I was so mean to you a couple years back. _


	5. Mike

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.**

**Note: Come on, guys. I'd really like some reviews here, please. I'm putting a lot of time and effort into this story. I promise, my next one will be happier. **

**Chapter Five—Mike**

_Dear Artie,_

_Hi. I can't believe it's been two years since you were killed. I remember every minute of that day. I am so, so sorry that I couldn't save you. Trust me, if I could've given my life for yours, I would've. I can't look at a kid in a wheelchair without thinking of you. I really still wish you were here. Things just haven't been the same since you left us._

Mike would never, ever tell anyone what happened that day. He wouldn't even tell his parents or the psychologist they made him see in the aftermath. All they knew was that he and Artie were in the locker room together. Two went in, one came out.

Really, he was surprised none of them thought he killed Artie himself.

No, Mike just didn't like to think about it. He saw it enough in his dreams—nightmares, really—and didn't feel like garnering sympathy from any of the rest of them. He had half a mind to tell Tina, especially after…well, what happened to her, but he couldn't bring himself to upset her even further than she already was. He just kept it all inside, as he'd been taught to do by his father. Breathing in and out, he tried to push the images out of his mind. The shots ringing out, coming closer and closer. Rubble, falling down around the two of them. Artie, looking over at him, his green eyes wide with worry. Artie, lying on the ground, a gash in his forehead, bleeding out. His own hands, trying in vain to perform CPR on the bespectacled boy. Artie's breaths coming fewer and farther apart. The wheelchair, wheeling away from them, coming to a slow stop in the corner.

Mike felt cornered, trapped. He could not breathe nor think properly as he looked down at Artie, who was dead, dead, dead. How he wished he could've died in his friend's place! It just wasn't fair. None of this was fair.

What if Artie wasn't the only one? He thought to himself. What if they got Finn, Sam, Brittany? What if all of his friends were dead, and he was the sole survivor? God, he already had survivor's guilt as it was losing one friend, let alone five or six or ten. Luckily, Artie was the only one who had perished in the shooting. Yet Mike still carried the guilt of being a survivor, especially since one of his closest friends died not ten feet away from him.

For Mike, it was the wheelchair that haunted him the most.

He could hardly look at a wheelchair, let alone a boy in a wheelchair, without trembling from head to toe. It reminded him too much of Artie, and it made him sick to his stomach. It was not so bad if the person in the wheelchair was female, but if it was a male, especially a young or teenaged one, Mike felt nauseas beyond reason, and had to excuse himself to a bathroom in case he vomited. All he could picture were Artie's glasses, broken and askew, sitting off-kilter on his bloodied face. Artie, lying on the floor, the blood gushing from his forehead. The wheelchair, drifting away from them. He wanted so badly to tell someone what had truly happened in the locker room on that day, but couldn't bring himself to. He figured if he did tell someone, it would be someone who would've kept the secret between them; not big-mouthed Rachel or Kurt. Finn, perhaps, Mike thought.

He cried often, and his mother was increasingly worried as her son stayed in bed for hours on end and would come downstairs in the mornings bleary-eyed, sleep clearly having failed him. She tried to reassure him that it was okay and that life would eventually move on, but he would not hear her. He never thought any of this could happen, especially not in his senior year. He and Tina were no longer together and had no interest in dating. Football season was over, and he had a waning interest in dance. His acceptance to the Joffrey School of Dance in Chicago gave him little pleasure. He halfheartedly sent his reply forms in. He would go, if not for his family, who wanted it so badly for him. He briefly considered becoming a doctor or a lawyer as his father had always wanted him to be, but knew he had fought too hard to follow his dance dreams to just change them now.

He repeated the mantra in his head that they all had been saying since that day: breathe in, breathe out. It helped most of them cope on sliding scales of helpfulness. For people like Brittany and Sugar, it was easier. But for people like Mike and Tina, the mantra was almost a necessity. They needed it like they needed air to get through the short days and long nights that lay before them like an unending void. Mike spent much of his days when they reopened the school staying as far away from the boy's locker room as was humanly possible. He talked to Coach Beiste and got away with doing reports on sporting events for gym credit to avoid even being in the area. He felt like crying openly whenever he passed by Artie's locker, or whenever he saw the handicap-accessible ramps. Breathe in, breathe out.

One day while roaming the streets of Chicago, a young man in a wheelchair stopped Mike to ask him the time. "I…uh…I'm sorry…" Mike backed up, nearly tripping over a passerby. "But I…I can't…" He turned tail and ran like hell until he got to a McDonald's. He went straight for the restrooms, locked himself in a stall, and wept. How pathetic am I? He thought. I'm crying in a McDonald's bathroom in downtown Chicago just because I saw a boy who reminded me too much of Artie. When is my heart going to heal?

Mike eventually settled down and married a "nice Asian girl", one his father approved of. They had a son together and moved into a suburb of Chicago. But Mike still couldn't look at a person in a wheelchair without thinking of Artie. It caused him to get sweaty and nauseas beyond his comprehension. All he could think of was the disabled boy dead on the floor, knowing he could've saved his life but was incompetent in doing so. He knew Artie could still be alive today, could still be in Lima or wherever he decided to go and be okay, completely okay, if he had just reacted a second sooner.

At some point, he did tell someone what truly happened that day and swore them to further secrecy. He had pulled away from the familiar group to help avoid dealing with the pain. Artie had been such a strong part of the group, and the lack of his presence at reunions and weddings cast a dreary shadow of reminder upon all of them.

Life just wasn't the same without Artie, was it?

_Artie, I wish I could take back that day. I wish it with all I've got. _

_Michael Chang, Jr._


	6. Rachel

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. **

**Note: Aww, thanks for the nice reviews! I know a lot of you guys are Rachel Berry lovers, so this one's for you. If you're a Kurt lover (as I am), you have a while to wait, I'm afraid. But here you go, Berry fans. Hope you like!  
**

**Chapter Six—Rachel**

_Dearest Artie,_

_Rachel Berry here writing to you on the third anniversary of your passing. Has it already been that long? Gosh, it seems as if it were only yesterday. I'm sure you're aware, but I've made it to New York. Of course, I haven't really had any jobs yet, but the fact of the matter is that I'm here, following my dreams. But every so often, I feel selfish and think to myself: "here I am, with everything I always wanted, but Artie will never become a famous film director, like he always wanted."_

Rachel didn't entirely lie in her letter to her fallen classmate. She had made it to New York, and she was following her dreams, but they weren't exactly the same dreams she had started out with. Her dreams had changed, and all because of what happened on that day. In fact, she feared Artie wouldn't recognize her today if he were to run into her on the streets. She was so far removed from when they had first met on the first day of Glee Club. Oh, how Rachel's heart ached at the memory! Artie had been part of the very original incarnation of the New Directions, one of the original five, along with herself, Mercedes, Tina, and Kurt. It was Artie who had taken the lead vocals on their very first song, "Sit Down, You're Rocking the Boat". It was inadvertently Artie who had guilted Finn into staying with the Club. It was Artie who had inspired them into performing numbers such as "Proud Mary". Artie, the very essence of what Glee Club had been about: the underdog. And although Rachel admitted to not being the kindest of folk to the wheelchair-bound boy, she was occasionally caught off-guard by his talent.

She had been in the auditorium with Mercedes on that day.

When she walked in, she was so sure, so utterly positive that she wanted to be an actress and grace the Broadway stage.

When she walked out, her dreams had taken a one-eighty. No longer did she want to sing and dance and act her heart out. She just couldn't. It would remind her too much of it. Heck, she'd struggled not to panic or cry all throughout their Regionals performance (which they'd almost pulled out of, out of respect for Artie, but Tina insisted it was what he would've wanted). She wanted to scream and run away from all of it. Being on a stage just didn't feel right anymore. It wasn't that she thought she kept seeing Artie's ghost in the corner of the stage, wheeling around. It wasn't that she thought it would be disrespectful to go on in competitions without him. It was the memories of what had happened on the stage in their auditorium on that day.

She had been practicing a duet with Mercedes, a piece that they could potentially have used at Regionals or even Nationals. They knew they'd need killer powerhouse vocals to bring down the competition, and the only way was for both female divas to sing together. They were arguing about which artist to pay tribute to, as Mercedes had been campaigning for Aretha and Rachel wanted Celine. Rachel was on the verge of a breakthrough when the shots first rang out.

"Oh my God," Mercedes muttered. "What was that?"

"I…I don't know," Rachel whimpered.

Mercedes turned to look at her friend. "Rachel, those were gunshots."

Rachel's brown eyes widened with terror. "M…Mercedes, that's…that's impossible. N…no, this stuff doesn't h…happen in Lima, it…it happens in other places…"

"Trust me, Rachel," the black girl was backing up. "Those were gunshots. Someone's shooting up the school. I don't know why or who, but we gotta hide."

"W…w…where?" Rachel's eyes darted wildly around the vast room, seeming to be entirely too large now, though it never appeared that way to her before.

"The wings," Mercedes grabbed Rachel's wrist and dragged her to the side.

"Oh God, we're going to die," Rachel moaned. "I'll never be on Broadway!"

"Can you cut the drama for one damn minute?" Mercedes whispered fiercely. "We just gotta stay calm and wait til they're caught. We need a backup plan, an escape route, just in case. But we are _not_ gonna die."

"What if Finn's dead?" Rachel started to panic. "Oh God, what if Finn's dead?" Her voice rose to the point of hysteria. There was no way she could go on without him.

"Rachel, shut…up…" Mercedes rubbed her temples. "Can't we have one conversation that doesn't revolve around NYADA or New York or Finn?"

"Oh." She clenched her jaw and trembled as the gunshots continued. The stage felt cold and unforgiving instead of warm and friendly as it usually did.

No, this wasn't the right career for her. Maybe once upon a time, but now it didn't seem right to be an actress when she had to act happy every day with her friends and family. She was realizing, right now, as she knew people were getting hurt, maybe even dying, that her whole life was just a big play, and she the main actress. It was comedy, it was drama, and it was everything she'd always wanted and more.

So why wasn't she thrilled?

Rachel cancelled her NYADA audition, leaving Kurt the chance at the placement and scholarship. She did still want to go New York, and out of respect for Artie—and still having a deep appreciation for the arts—took a whack at film school at NYU. It was thrilling, she realized, to learn how movies were made and to go behind-the-scenes. It didn't involve being up on stage—which still gave her panic attacks—but it allowed her to be involved in the arts, perhaps even act in a few student films here and there.

Rachel and Finn married a few years after Rachel graduated college and went on to have three children, two girls and a boy. Like their mama, the girls were born actresses. They begged her to join them onstage in the parent's production at school many a year, but she always refused, saying she'd rather tape the performance than perform. She did attempt to work backstage one year, but even the feeling of being in the wings gave her panic attacks all over again.

"Mama, what's wrong?" Lucy asked her.

"I…I get very sick when I have to perform. I get bad memories of something terrible that happened to me and Daddy in high school. We lost one of our very good friends when a bad man came into school with a gun."

"And it makes you sad?"

"Yes," Rachel whispered. "It makes me very, very sad."

_Artie, I know we weren't always the best of friends. But if you can find it in your heart, please forgive me for every critical thing I might have said to you._

_Until we meet again in Heaven,_

_Rachel Barbra Berry [signed with a gold star]_

_P.S. I'm sure you have plenty of gold stars up there, but here's one for the road. _


	7. Mr Schuester

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. **

**Note: Thanks again for the feedback. I'm glad you're enjoying the letters-to-Artie format. Unfortunately, this chapter won't be as long, seeing as how Will is a good fifteen, twenty years older than the rest of the characters, so there's not as much of his life to talk about. Still, I felt as if he should be included. **

**Chapter Seven—Will Schuester**

_Dear Artie,_

_Hi. It's been four years since the McKinley school shooting. Wow. I feel so horrible, though. There I was, flirting with Emma in her office, when the shots began. I should've apprehended him beforehand. I should've been there for you guys, to comfort you and make sure all of you got out alive. Instead, I was so focused on Emma. God, what kind of educator was I? I can't step inside a school again. I failed as a mentor, as a protector. _

He couldn't help it, really. She just looked so adorable that day, the way she was pre-cleaning her grapes for lunch with her little rubber gloves. He was proud of her; she'd been taking her medication and wasn't cleaning quite as much as she used to. And she'd been happier ever since he proposed, humming to herself as she neatened her pamphlets and cleaned her desk. There he was, chatting with her, flirting outrageously.  
"I can't wait for our wedding," he said.

"Me neither," she sighed contentedly.

"I can't wait for the wedding night even more," he stroked her arm.

Her eyes widened. "I…I'm not…I mean, I am, but I'm…nervous."

"I won't hurt you, I promise. I could never hurt you, Emma."

She pumped some hand sanitizer on her hands. "I know you won't."

"Em, I thought you were taking your medication."

"I am, I am. See, I only need ten squirts of Purell to feel clean. Before, I needed twenty. So I'd say that's an improvement."

He sighed, but chuckled. "Yeah. Yeah, it is."

Bang, bang.

"What was that?!" Emma shrieked.

"I don't know," Will peered outside her office window. His face paled. "Oh shit. Emma, we've gotta get out of here. Someone's got a gun!"

"Oh my God," she muttered. She let Will lead her out of her office and down the hall, where he brought her outside and into the far parking lot. He told her he wasn't going to leave her. He didn't want to chance that. The police would take care of this. This wasn't like Columbine, when people were ignorant. They had special security backup, they had plans, lockdown plans and safety plans. And besides, if anyone was vomiting or bleeding, it would majorly set off Emma's OCD, and he didn't want to spend hours in the emergency room while she took decontamination shower after decontamination shower. He spotted the Glee kids over on the other side of the lot, huddled around a tree.

And they were all crying, every single one of them.

"Em, come on, let's go see what's up. Something's gotta be wrong if Sam's crying." She hurriedly followed him to the group of sobbing teenagers."Guys, what's wrong?" They all looked at each other, tears streaming down their faces. Even Santana was weepy and unstable, and Mike couldn't look him in the eye. His stomach sank. "Hey, where's Artie? Did he get hurt, did he get taken away in one of the ambulances?"

"Yes, he got hurt. And yes, he was taken away…because he's dead," Rory mumbled.

Will felt as if he'd been punched hard in the stomach. "What?"

"A…Artie's d…d…dead," Rachel bawled. "Oh my God, Mr. Schue, he's d…dead!" She bent over in a torrent of tears, Finn attempting in vain to console her.

No, this couldn't be right. Surely, they had it wrong. But the looks on their faces and the tears in their eyes told him that they weren't lying or over-exaggerating.

He'd failed as a teacher.

He'd failed as a protector for these kids when they were on school property.

He should've sent Emma ahead to safety, stayed behind and tried to help, to save them.

One of _his_ students was dead, and he could've stopped it.

God, what kind of teacher was he?

After Nationals, he sent in his resignation to Figgins. He couldn't bear to be in that choir room any longer, not without noting the empty space between chairs where Artie's chair had always been parked. When he watched them perform from the audience, there was always something off about the dynamic onstage. Something was missing, and it was a young boy in a wheelchair giving it his all. He just couldn't do it anymore. He'd lost too many members due to graduation anyway to keep the Glee Club up and running, and since Rory had to go back to Ireland after his visa was denied, he only had Sam, Tina, Blaine, Sugar, Joe, and Brittany to work off of. He didn't want to wrangle up six new members. It wasn't worth it.

So he once again applied to be an accountant. It wasn't ideal, but it got him away from the schools.

But whenever he smelled Purell—what Emma had been using moments before the attack on the school—he thought of Artie. His anxiety attacks weren't as bad as the kids—they were still young and their minds much more pliable and vulnerable, and they had stayed in the school during the entire ordeal—but he did cry. It got to the point where he asked Emma to switch brands of hand sanitizer, or else use it when he wasn't around. It wasn't so much the bottle itself that would set off the tears, but rather, the smell.

"You know I can't get on without my Purell," she said.

"I know, Emma, and I understand that. But it just…it reminds me of him."

She sat down across from him. "Of Artie, you mean?" He bowed his head, rubbing his temple. "It wasn't your fault, you know. It was a big school. You didn't know where any of those kids were at the time, and even if you did, it would've been a big heroic feat to save all of them."

"I just feel so responsible. If—if I had just paid attention, I could've stopped the whole thing from happening in the first place." He sighed. "Look, you know the symptoms of PTSD. Every single one of those kids suffers from it now, e…especially Tina and Mike. I just didn't think that I would suffer from it, too. It…it's not as bad as the kids, but I can't smell that sanitizer without crying, Em. Please just…use it when I'm not here, okay? Or…or use soap. Use it in your office, use it when I'm at work, just…please."

"Okay," she murmured. "But Will? Eventually you have to stop blaming yourself."

But he never really did stop blaming himself. If he hadn't been acting like one of those lovesick teenagers, Artie might've lived, those other kids would've have gotten injured. He'd been ignorant and negligent, and someone died because of it.

And for what reason, really?

He never did set foot in the choir room again, no matter how much he wanted to.

It used to be his home, and they used to be his family.

But not anymore.

_Never stop singing, Artie, and find it in your heart to forgive me._

_All the best,_

_Mr. Schue_


	8. Finn

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. **

**Note: Just a warning now, I despise Finn and I loathe all things Finchel. So if this chapter comes across as anti-Finn, I'm sorry, but I just re-watched "Goodbye" and I'm still pissed at him for the way he acted at the end of the episode. **

**Chapter Eight—Finn**

_Dear Artie,_

_Hey, bro. It's been five years since you died. I know we didn't hang out much, even in Glee Club, but I always admired you. You know, for being in that chair and not caring what anybody thought. Anyway, I married Rachel, did you see that from wherever you are? Yeah, we're married. I would've liked to have seen you at the wedding, though, since everyone else was there and all…_

Finn had been outside when the car bomb blew Blaine's car to smithereens. He'd seen it catch on fire, he'd heard the explosion. His first instinct was to call 9-1-1, to get help, because he knew it was Blaine's car, and that if there was a car bomb around, who knew what else was there. His second instinct was to run like hell.

And, being Finn, he ran like hell into the school, unwittingly running into the crossfire. There were already kids screaming and ducking for cover. Get to Rachel, he thought. Get to Rachel, get to Rachel, get to Rachel. She had just said 'yes' to his proposal, they were all set to get married after Nationals, and he wasn't about to lose her now, not when he'd just gotten her for what seemed like forever. He pushed through the throngs of kids pushing towards the exit. If he was gonna die, he was gonna see Rachel one last time. He didn't want to die in front of her, of course, but at least he could try and get her to safety, even if it cost him his life. He'd be a hero, like his dad…or at least, who he had always thought his dad was. He could save Rachel; she actually had dreams and plans for the future. She was destined for New York, as New York was destined for her. He knew she'd either be in the choir room or the auditorium, and he headed for the latter, as it was closer. "Rachel? Rachel!"

"F…Finn?" He heard her whimper.

"Oh, Rachel, thank God." He found her and Mercedes cowering in the wings. He took each by the hand and led them out the stage door exit and to safety. He was glad; Rachel was safe, and so was Mercedes, something Sam would thank him for later.

Still, he couldn't shake the image of Blaine's car being blown up. What if someone had been next to it, or worse, what if Blaine had actually been in it? Oh, Kurt never would've forgiven himself if Blaine had died (although Finn later found out that Blaine had been with Kurt the whole time, and only emerged with a few bruises). He knew that Kurt was blaming himself for the shooting anyway, and he never would let himself live with the fact that he'd accidentally gotten Blaine killed, too. Finn just felt guilty that he hadn't thought to save anyone else but Rachel. Mercedes had been a bonus victory. Still, Finn felt as if he could've gone back in and saved more people, been a hero, the boy everyone always made him out to be. So why didn't he go back and find Kurt, his own stepbrother? God, Burt would've never forgiven him if he'd gotten Kurt killed.

And even worse, Artie was dead, and Finn hadn't saved him. It wasn't like Artie could've run away, or saved himself otherwise. He couldn't leap under a desk or duck into a shower stall in the gym, or get himself down the stairs. What if Finn had just left Rachel and Mercedes in the parking lot and had gone back, tried to get his stepbrother or his handicapped friend? Sam and Puck had gone on the big damn hero quest, not him. Did that mean he was weaker than them? Did he care about no one else but Rachel? It sure seemed that way to the rest of the guys, who cold-shouldered him, except for Joe, who just said he was praying for him.

"You should've been the hero, Finn," they said.

"Can't you ever think of anyone else but Rachel?"

"You're so selfish, Finn."

And he hated himself for it.

So he joined the Army. If he couldn't be a hero at a school shooting, maybe he could be an anonymous one overseas.

Then the explosions started happening, and the bush fires, and he couldn't handle it.

"Hey man, what's up?" One of his Army buddies asked.

"I…my buddy Artie died when our school was shot up, and my stepbrother's boyfriend's car was blown up. It was rough, dude."

"So what does that have to do with like, that bush fire back there?"

"I was near the car when it blew up, you know? And I know my stepbrother—his name's Kurt—he would've never forgiven me if his boyfriend had been there at the time and I never saved him. Guess I was focused on getting my fiancé out of there."

"Oh, that Rachel chick? The one you have those pictures up all over your bunk? So when are you two gonna get married?"

Finn smiled. "As soon as I get out of here, I'm gonna marry her."

And he kept his word. As soon as he was out of boot camp and his imminent deployment, he went straight to New York and married Rachel. The wedding was lovely, as weddings are, but as Finn looked out into the group of friends and family, he couldn't shake that something wasn't right. He was marrying the girl of his dreams, so he should've been the happiest man in the world, but he felt so bad that Artie wasn't there, chilling in his chair, acting as one of the best men or sitting in the front row, beaming up at them. He couldn't make himself visit Artie's grave, either, when he visited his stepfather and mother back home in Lima. Many, if not all, of them had gone at some point or another, but Finn couldn't seem to do it. He didn't know if Artie forgave him up there in Heaven or wherever he was. The other guys forgave him one at a time as the years went by, but he'd never know if Artie had the same forgiveness that everyone else did.

He'd respected Artie, he had. He never knew how hard it was to be in a wheelchair until he'd had to do it himself, back in their sophomore year. He liked how Artie never let anyone give him any crap, except for Santana, but everyone was terrified of her at some given point. Artie, Finn thought, was a pretty cool guy. He'd been the hero, dying in place of Mike, even if he didn't mean to. He'd been their Superman, being the only one to die in that horrible shooting.

And why not him? Why not Finn? Why hadn't he made the heroic sacrifice, died for his friends?

Was it too late to turn back time? Make that sacrifice?

_Say hi to my dad for me, okay? I mean, I never knew him, but say hi anyway._

_Your pal,_

_Finn _


	9. Tina

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. **

**Note: This is one of the more emotional chapters, and yeah, it's sad, so here's a tissue warning right here and now. **

**Chapter Nine—Tina**

_Dearest Artie,_

_Hi. I bet you didn't expect we'd still be thinking of you—or care so much—six years after your death. But Artie, I could never forget you, never. You were my first love…and my only true love. Yes, I know, I dated Mike for a while, but he didn't make me feel the way you made me feel. I loved you so much, Artie. I still do. They all tell me I need to move on. But I don't see how I can, considering the circumstances…_

Tina never expected it to happen. Really, she hadn't. She only meant to reconcile with Artie, now that they were both single again. She still loved him, and he was willing to give her a second chance. So they went on a date, they went back to Tina's house, and they made love, as they'd always secretly wanted to. Thinking of what had happened to Quinn, they used protection.

Neither of them noticed that the condom broke.

Tina didn't want to believe that she was pregnant. What teenager does? She tried to convince herself that it was the flu, seeing how it was winter and all. She couldn't be pregnant, she just couldn't be. They had been careful, really, they had. She brushed it off when her period was late, blaming it on the 'flu' she thought she had and the stress of the impending Regionals competition. She hadn't been gaining much weight that she'd noticed, and other than bouts of nausea and otherwise feeling a bit weaker than usual, she felt completely fine. She had Artie back, and she was happy for that.

That day in art class, she had been painting. She wasn't sure entirely _what_ she was painting, as the topic that month was abstract art in various media. Other classmates wanted to draw with charcoal or sculpt something, but Tina liked to paint. She couldn't erase it like she could a pencil sketch or smooth it over like she could a sculpture. It had to be perfect. If she tried to paint over a mistake with another color, it wouldn't be quite right. It was about control, about the right length of the brushstroke and the right mix of colors to create a symphony of colors and shapes. It was okay that it was abstract, what she was painting; after all, that was the assignment. She let the paintbrush swirl across the paper, allowing her mind to drift as she did so. She liked when the teacher played classical music on the radio to inspire them. The smell of paint permeated the air, along with other smells found in an art room, making her eyes sting, but she didn't care.

That's when it started to happen. She felt the blood drain from her face, but led Joe Hart, the new kid, towards a nearby emergency exit and straight outside to the parking lots.

"Tina, what…what's happening, I don't understand," Joe said.

Her eyes were wild. "It's Columbine all over again," she bit her ragged nails. "Oh God, no, this can't be happening." She dropped her hand from her mouth. "Oh God, Artie! Where's Artie? Is he okay? Is he safe?" She racked her brain, trying to think of what class he had at that time, where he could be, if any of their friends were in the same class who could get him to safety. Her eyes welled with tears. "Oh God, what if he's hurt? What if he's…?" Her knees began to buckle.

"Hey," Joe put a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, he's gonna be fine. The Lord will see us through this. Don't…don't cry…" he pulled her into an awkward hug. "Look, there's uh…Mercedes, and Rachel and Finn. Let's go talk to them, okay?" She nodded miserably and sniffled as he brought her over to them.

"Thank God, you're both safe," Rachel breathed a sigh of relief.

"So it's only the five of us for now?" Joe questioned Finn.

"Yeah, bro, but I'm sure the rest of us are around here somewhere." They shivered in the cold as gunshots and screams penetrated the atmosphere, Rachel sidling closer to Finn as they huddled for warmth. Quinn and Sugar appeared, and then another group of Glee kids, and another. Only one arrived by themselves, which was Mike.

"Mike, where's Artie?" Tina immediately asked him. "Where is he?"

Mike shook his head, the poor boy trembling from head to toe. "I'm so sorry. I'm so freaking sorry, Tina."

And her world went black.

She awoke a few minutes later to Mercedes shaking her shoulder. "No, no, he's dead, he's dead!" The Asian girl screamed. "Artie, Artie, no!"

"I've got you, babygirl," Mercedes held her fiercely. "I've got you. It's gonna be okay." She gently stroked her black hair in an attempt to soothe her, but Tina thrashed her arms.

"No, no, no! Bring him back! Someone, anyone, please tell me that this is just a cruel joke!"

But they didn't, because they couldn't. It was true. He was gone.

Mercedes drove her home and tucked her into bed, offering to stay with her, but Tina sent her away. She wanted to be alone to grieve her love's death. She pressed her hands to her stomach. In her innermost heart, she knew it to be true, but she was going to deny it until there was too much evidence confronting her with the reality of the situation. She didn't know who to turn to. She couldn't tell her parents about her potential…problem. And Mercedes and Kurt, for as much as she loved them, couldn't keep a secret. Instead, she turned to the one person she knew who had been there before.

"Quinn, I…can you…first of all, I'm sorry for snapping at you in the bathroom at Artie's…you know." She couldn't bring herself to say _funeral_. "But do you think you could accompany me to the drugstore so I can buy a…a test?" She hoped Quinn would get the message.

The blonde smiled warmly. "Of course, Tina. We'll go today, after school." And so they did, Tina hiding her burning face as Quinn purchased the pregnancy test. She waited the agonizing ride back home. She waited the painfully long time it took for the results to pop up. She couldn't even bear to look at the little lines that came on the screen; she made Quinn do it. "I'm so sorry," Quinn said softly. "Tina, I…"

"Don't," she whispered. "I know what that test says."

"What do you want to do?" Quinn asked gently. "I can go with you to Planned Parenthood, if that's what you want. If you keep it, give it up, or abort it, it's none of my business, and I'll support you no matter what."

Tina's hands fluttered across her belly. She knew her decision.

"Take me there," she said. "I can't keep it. And I don't want to bring it into this world." Quinn flinched; abortion was against her religion, which was why it hadn't been an option for her, but this was a different circumstance than her own. She had just been stupid and caught in a web of lies and cheating, and she hadn't used birth control. From what Tina told her through hysterical tears, she gathered that they had used a condom, but it must have broken without them realizing it. There was no cheating; just a consummation between two people who'd loved each other for three years.

That, and Tina's baby's father was dead.

She held Tina's hand in the waiting room. "Are you sure about this?"

Tina's face was a rock. "Positive."

In the end, she didn't go through with it. She felt as if Artie had put his hand on her shoulder and told her that this baby, this child, would love her when he couldn't, that this was a reminder of him, but a positive one, and that this could change her life around.

So she concealed it from her friends and family for as long as she could, until Quinn was about to go to Yale, a couple weeks before Tina was to give birth. Her parents had, surprisingly, not kicked her out of the house, and found space for the necessary baby things. Of course, she had to pay for much of it herself, but her friends pitched in, and Rachel and Kurt and Mercedes even set about planning a baby shower. She loved her friends for being there, really, she did. But as her stomach expanded and the baby inside of her grew, she couldn't hide the fact that the baby's father wasn't there to support her and to love her…to love _them._

The birth was a bloody, painful ordeal, in which Tina went in and out of consciousness as Mercedes and Quinn supported her, Mercedes having been there before with Quinn and Quinn being on the other side of things for the first time.

Tina was blessed with a baby girl on August 23, 2012, a month premature. The baby was named Sunshine, Sunny for short, as insisted upon by Quinn, who thought Tina could use a little ray of sunshine in her life. She was a beautiful baby, with Artie's soft green eyes and Tina's jet-black hair. Tina almost hadn't wanted to hold her at first, but when the cooing baby was handed over to her by the nurse, she fell in love instantly. This was her baby, her very own, and she and Artie had created her together.

And so Sunny grew up before Tina could count the minutes. When she took her first steps, Tina started crying, knowing Artie would've loved to have seen it. He would've loved little Sunny, would've spoiled her and fawned all over her. Sure, he would've been worried at first, having to support a baby at seventeen, but he would've made her his daddy's little girl. The other Glee kids doted on her, Quinn especially. Tina decreed her the unofficial godmother, and Mike, whom she still cared for in a way, the godfather. Both accepted and lavished Sunny with love and gifts. Unfortunately, with a baby, Tina had to stay close to home for school, so she wouldn't have to dump her baby with her parents for months at a time. Besides, she couldn't stay away from her baby girl for that long.

Of course, there did come the day that Sunny asked about her father. "Where dada?" She asked one evening as Tina was cleaning the kitchen after dinner.

Tina froze, tears springing to her eyes. "Dada isn't here," she managed to say.

"But _where_?" Sunny insisted.

"He's in Heaven," Tina choked out.

Sunny studied her mother's face carefully. "No dada?"

"No," Tina whispered. "No dada."

Sunny's face crumpled. "Dada bye-bye?"

And Tina, for once, couldn't look at her daughter.

Eventually, when Sunny got taller and could see things that were on higher shelves, she came upon a framed picture of Artie. "Mama, who's this?"

Tina smiled softly. "That's your daddy, sweetie."

Sunny regarded the picture with great care. "What was his name?"

"Arthur, though we all called him Artie."

"You mean Auntie Quinn and Uncle Mike and Auntie 'Cedes and all them?"

"Yes. He was…well, he had something very bad happen to him when he was young, a little younger than you, and he couldn't walk anymore. He was in a wheelchair."

"Oh." She looked at the picture a little more. "Hey, I have his eyes!"

Tina chuckled. "Yes, you do, and you have his smile, too."

Sunny laughed. "Did you love him, Mama?"

"Yes," Tina looked at the picture with her daughter. "I loved him very much."

And so she watched her wondrous little child grow and blossom. She wouldn't be the first to admit that it was difficult being a single parent, but she pulled through on the sheer strength of her friends and family. When Sunny was old enough, she took her to her father's grave. She told her daughter everything that she could about Artie, summoning memories of him and encompassing both of them with his spirit. But she would never admit aloud that Sunny was an accident, that she hadn't been planned, nor that she hadn't wanted her in the beginning.

She could never allow paint in the house. The smell of it alone was enough to send her reeling back to that day, and she couldn't make it through without crying. She never bought paint for Sunny, and immediately hid the paintings she brought home from art class. She couldn't even look at an abstract painting without remembering what she had been doing when her boyfriend had been dying nearby. The world seemed abstract to her, colors and sounds blurring into each other as they flew by her. Things that would've made her cry made her laugh, and vice versa. At times, she felt oddly calm and peaceful. One might've thought her to be depressed or else suicidal. But she wasn't. She just felt free and light, even though she always carried with her the pain of knowing that her daughter would never know her father. She didn't want to fall in love again or marry again, and so she didn't, although Sunny unsuccessfully tried to set her up with various single fathers of her friends. She'd always be in love with Artie, and nothing could change that. She wanted to forget him, yet remember him at the same time. She was afraid of forgetting him, but she was afraid of remembering.

Still, she knew that somewhere, he was watching over her.

And that was enough for her.

_Sunny loves you, too. She really does. I only wish she could see her father. She's taken after you so much. Sometimes, I feel you watching over us. You're still here, Artie. We just can't see you. _

_Love forever,_

_Tina _

_P.S. Sunny wants to add something here:_

_Hi Daddy I love you I wish I could see you so Mommy can stop crying Love Sunny_


	10. Sam

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. **

**Note: I promise, none of the rest of the chapters will be as heart-wrenching as the last one. And I double promise that my next story will be a happier affair. **

**Chapter Ten—Sam**

_Hey Artie,_

_It's been what, seven years since you got killed? Man. I can't believe it's been that long already. You were my best friend, you know? I always liked watching sci-fi movies with you. Remember how we always argued over which Star Wars trilogy was better? Yeah, that was fun. Oh, well, there was something I never told you—and we talked about a lot of things—and I'm sorry, but I just wasn't ready to tell you. It's not that I was afraid you'd judge me or anything…_

God, how Sam regretted not telling Artie the truth. He'd told Artie all about Quinn and Santana and even about Mercedes, but he never came clean about one relationship of his. He hadn't meant to fall in love with this person. Really, he hadn't. He'd intended on coming back to McKinley and getting Mercedes back. When he found out that she had a new boyfriend, his hopes fell a little bit, but he still wanted her back. Quinn had cheated on him, Santana had been all about sex, but Mercedes was actually a real thing to Sam. But then he saw the new kid in the choir room, a small blue-eyed boy with the coolest accent Sam had ever heard.

He fell in love, and he fell hard.

Sam had questioned his sexuality from time to time, and maybe Kurt hadn't been entirely wrong when he accused him of being gay when they first met. Then again, maybe it was just Rory. Maybe Rory was just special. He'd never wanted anyone like this before in his life, and to his surprise, Rory confessed around Christmas that he shared the feelings. The only thing was that neither of them felt comfortable being public about their relationship, nor did they want to come out to their friends and families after what Finn had done to Santana and how her grandmother had disowned her. Rory was especially uncomfortable, as his parents were hardcore Catholics, and he was terrified that they wouldn't let him back in their house. Sam agreed that they wouldn't hold hands in public, or have any public displays of affection for that matter, and that they would only kiss when they were one-hundred percent sure they were alone.

And kissing Rory was amazing, Sam decided. It was more amazing than kissing any of the Glee girls that he dated. His stomach swooped whenever he saw Rory, and he couldn't help but to blush when their eyes met. Rory's eyes were a brilliant ocean blue color that Sam loved staring into, feeling as if he could get lost in them forever. He wanted to be with Rory until the day he died. He'd never understood what 'love' was until he met the boy. Rory was so compassionate and sweet-natured, and Sam loved him for it.

He hated that he was nowhere near Rory on that day. He'd been roaming the second floor with Puck on a bathroom break, while he knew Rory had a free period and was probably in the cafeteria, grabbing a snack, as he was always hungry. Puck kept badgering him about who he liked—was he on to something?—and Sam kept politely avoiding his questions.

"Come on, man, I thought you wanted Mercedes back."

"Yeah, but she's with Shane now. She doesn't want me," Sam muttered.

"So? She's kinda hot. I would know, I had a fling with her two years ago."

Sam paused in his tracks. "What?" He shook his head quickly. "Never mind." He kept on walking. "Besides, I don't want her to cheat on Shane the way Quinn cheated on me with Finn. It wouldn't feel right. But if she breaks up with him…"

"That's my boy," Puck nudged Sam in the ribs good-naturedly. "So about Regionals-"

Sam whipped his head around. "What was that?"

"What was wh…oh shit," Puck let out a low whistle, his normally hardened, tough-guy face dissipating. "Come on man, let's get out of here!"

"No," Sam shouted, almost a little bit too much of panic coming through his voice. "We gotta go save people. This is our chance, we can be the heroes."

"That's a job for the great Finn Hudson," Puck snarked. The gunshots got louder and the screams seemingly closer.

"Come on," Sam insisted. "I wouldn't be able to live with myself if Artie or Quinn or any of them didn't make it out okay."

Puck sighed. "Fine. But if I die because of this, you're not invited to my funeral, and I will haunt you for the rest of your life." He and Sam took off at a run, dodging around the screaming kids and panic-stricken teachers on the second floor. Sam desperately needed to find Rory. If Rory died, he'd die on the inside. He knew the sensitive boy would be in terror, maybe even hiding, making it seemingly impossible to find him in that big damn school. He dragged Puck towards the stairs and they hurled down them at top-speed. He wished he could tell Puck about Rory, and he knew Puck was cool with Kurt and Blaine, but he didn't want to betray Rory's trust. Heart pounding, he checked various rooms, searching for the blue-eyed boy.

"Let's go to the cafeteria," he told Puck.

"Why?" Puck yelled over the pandemonium.

"I just…I have a feeling that one of the Glee kids is there," he said quickly, banging through the double doors.

"Sam?" Rory called, terror in his voice.

"Rory?" Sam's breath hitched.

"Sam," Rory waved a hand from under a table. "I'm here!"

"Oh thank God," Sam grabbed his hand and pulled him up. "Come on, let's go!"

Once they were alone, Sam pulled Rory close. "You're alive. Praise God." He kissed Rory on the forehead, out of sight from the crowd. "I love you so damn much."

"I love you too," Rory murmured. "I was so scared, so, so scared."

"I hate that Artie didn't…that he…" Sam sucked in his lower lip, trying not to cry.

"I'm so sorry, Sammy," Rory hugged him comfortingly. "I know he was your best mate."

"What if it had been you?" Sam whispered. "What if it had been _you_?"

They dated in secret until Rory turned 18, at which point, he applied to a college in the States, allowing him to be near his boyfriend. Sam proposed two years after that. They married with a Justice of the Peace and two of their most trusted friends, Mercedes and Quinn, as their witnesses.

They still longed for a child, though…

_I'm sorry I didn't tell you before. You were always open-minded about that stuff. Anyway, think you can maybe send us a little someone special? _

_Your best friend forever,_

_Sam_

**To be continued in Rory's chapter later this week…**


	11. Rory

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. **

**Note: Oh God, I almost forgot to put a note here. Okay, well, Rory's my favorite boy toy (besides Sam), so I liked writing this chapter a lot, and yeah. So...review it maybe?  
**

**Chapter Eleven—Rory**

_Dear Artie,_

_I don't really know what to write to you. It's been eight years since your death. Maybe I should just fill you in on what's happened? No, I'm sure you already know all that. I feel almost silly, writing this letter. It's not as if I can send it to you, wherever you are (though assuredly you're not in Hell). Besides, I hardly knew you. Sam cries every anniversary that goes by, and I do my best to comfort him—for you. _

God, how Rory hated apple pie now.

He couldn't even stomach the stuff; it just came back up if he tried. He didn't like the smell much, either. He didn't like the sight of it. He just hated it. It reminded him much too much of that day. The feeling of being scared beyond words, so afraid that you might die a horrible death, terrified of dying without the person you loved by your side. It reminded him of the cafeteria, so open and yet so cluttered, all of the tables and chairs bleeding into each other. It reminded him of how he was one of the only people in there, save a few upperclassmen who he didn't know, and the lunch ladies, of course. It reminded him of how he was worried that Sam wasn't going to make it, and the thought of Sam lying somewhere bleeding made him want to throw up everything he'd eaten.

Yep, he hated apple pie very much now.

He'd barely eaten five bites when the shooting broke out. Instantly, he'd dropped to the floor and crawled under the table. He clasped his knees to his chest, afraid that the sound of his rapidly beating heart would give him away to whomever was attacking the school. His breathing was hard and fast, his blue eyes darting wildly around the room. Surely, this was a horrible nightmare, and he'd wake up soon in the guest room at Brittany's house. This couldn't be real; this kind of thing didn't happen, did it? He'd only heard of a couple of school shootings occurring in Ireland. America was supposed to be the land of opportunity, a place where bad things couldn't happen to children. Schools were supposed to be safe places.

He wondered if it was an adult or a kid who was shooting.

Kids aren't supposed to kill other kids. Who could be that sick, have that much of a warped sense of reality to do this? He closed his eyes, tears spilling onto his shirt.

"Rory?"

His heart fluttered. "Sam!" He hesitantly stuck out his hand. He recognized Sam's sneakers as they approached him. "Sam," he said again, and he felt the familiar warmth of his secret boyfriend's hand grab his. To Rory's surprise, Puck was there, too.

"Come on," Sam said quickly. "Let's get out of here!" Rory ran practically on top of Sam's heels, running out the door and into the parking lot.

It was raining, Rory remembered, because his shirt got very wet with a combination of raindrops and teardrops.

Artie hadn't made it out.

Sam had been devastated. Rory tried his best to comfort his boyfriend, but could only do so much in the public eye. He hated not being able to tell anyone the truth. He couldn't tell them, though. Not after what had happened to Kurt and Santana at this school. He loved Sam, loved him more than anything else, but he couldn't be Sam's fully, he felt, not until their love was free and open. To add to his feelings of being uncomfortable with being 'out and proud', he knew his family, being staunch Catholics, would not approve. He didn't want to risk getting disowned. He loved Sam, but his family meant everything to him, and he'd never deal without them. If they disowned him, he'd have nowhere to go when he got back to Ireland. He'd have nowhere to call home, although Sam had said he could stay with his family until things got sorted out.

But Rory was too afraid nonetheless.

And so back to Ireland he went, under the guise that he was still hopelessly single, but sending romantic letters to Sam in secret, making sure he intercepted Sam's responses before anyone else could. Occasionally they'd Skype when Rory was home alone, always ending with an 'I love you'.  
He made his way back to America to go to college near where Sam was so they could be together again. They couldn't have been the happier pair, and Rory was shocked when Sam proposed during one of their private dinners at Sam's apartment. He agreed to form a union with Sam, as he wasn't comfortable with the term 'marriage' (and didn't like that it wasn't universally accepted in America) and didn't think that two people had to be "married" to live together and love each other. Just wearing Sam's ring and knowing that Sam loved him no matter what was enough for him. He did permit Sam to tell Quinn and Mercedes, if only for the reason that they needed witnesses at their ceremony.

But he still wasn't complete. He wanted a child, oh so desperately wanted one. He began to pray, although in vain, that they'd be blessed with one. He even made a trip to Artie's grave, asking him that, with the powers that be in Heaven, that he send them a little boy or a girl to call their very own. He adored Tina's little girl, and doted on Rachel and Finn's children, as they all did, but he went to bed feeling empty, like their family wasn't a family until they had a child to love and take care of for the rest of their lives.

Finally, finally his prayers were answered, and they were able to adopt a baby boy, whom Sam named Stephen George, after Artie's two favorite film directors: Stephen Spielberg and George Lucas. Rory loved his little boy and constantly showered him with affection, joking with Rachel that he was gonna marry one of her little daughters. Rachel would laugh and smile, 'oh, wouldn't it be so funny if they did'.

And still, he wouldn't tell his family back home that he wore the ring of another man, not of a woman. And when they became increasingly more insistent that they visit America to see Rory's family, he had to scramble to form a lie. Sam, understandingly, would go to Mike's house for the week, while Tina would stand in as the role of Rory's spouse, leaving Sunny with her grandparents. It was an elaborate lie, and Rory felt as if he was going to Hell for it, but it worked.

He hated seeing Sam cry. Sam would burst into tears on the anniversary of Artie's death, and Rory fell into a routine, knowing exactly what would comfort Sam, what to say to him to make him better, how to kiss his tears away and lessen the guilt. He hated that Sam felt responsible for what happened to Artie. And why should he? Sam had confessed that he was mainly thinking of him, but should've thought of Artie, too, as Artie was his best friend.

And why Artie? Out of all of them, why the most seemingly innocent one?

Why not Rory, who was surely bound for Hell, as he'd lain with another man and loved him the way he should've loved a woman? Why did God not take his life away the way He'd so cruelly taken Artie's, who'd barely begun to live his life?

God, how Rory hated apple pie.

If he hadn't been so darn hungry all the time, he wouldn't have gone to the cafeteria.

If the pie hadn't looked so appetizing, he wouldn't have eaten it.

He wouldn't have been so far away from Sam.

Sam would've been able to save him and Artie.

He blamed it all on that damn pie.

_Great, now I'm not sure how to end this. Oh, well. I suppose I'll just say thank you for being such a good friend to my Sam. If you could, please bless us with a child. _

_Thinking of you,_

_Rory_


	12. Mercedes

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. **

**Note: Sorry it's been awhile between updates. I've been busy with schoolwork, work work, and campus events. I'll try my best with this one, though.**

**Chapter Twelve—Mercedes**

_Hey boy,_

_So, how's my homeboy Artie doing in Heaven? How is it up there? Are there really angels and choirs? I'm sure in your Heaven there's video games and those weird science movies you'd always watch with Sam. It's hard to think that it's been nine years since we lost you. You were always so fun to hang out with. You were an outcast, just like the rest of us, and we loved you no matter what. We didn't see the chair; we just saw the boy _in_ the chair, you know? _

Mercedes's story was more or less that of Rachel's. The duo of divas had been in the auditorium, practicing a new song for the upcoming Regionals competition. Well, "practicing" would be the nice word for it, as it was more like "arguing". She demanded that they work some Aretha Franklin songs into the mix to try and change things up, maybe do a little R&B instead of the pop standards they usually did. Rachel had said no, they must pay homage to her idol, Barbra Streisand, as her music translated to show choir easier and was more accessible to the panel of judges.

"Look, homegirl, you only want Barbra so you can get lead vocals, as always, because you know you're the only one who can sing her songs."

"Mercedes, if you remember, I did not receive a solo at Sectionals due to an unfair-"

"You cheated with the election, Rachel, and you got the punishment you deserved. And I think the group did just fine without your screechy vocals drowning them all out."

Rachel narrowed her eyes. "Screechy?"

"All I'm saying," Mercedes stepped back from the shorter girl, knowing that Rachel could become a giant when she was angry enough, "is that other people enjoy getting solos, too. I mean, what about our new members? Don't you think they want a little recognition, too? I think Rory has a nice voice. Maybe he wants that solo."

"Rory," Rachel tossed her hair over her shoulder, "would be happy to give me a solo, as he is fully aware of my talents and how far they will get us."

"Why do I bother trying to reason with you?" Mercedes threw her hands in the air.

"Because you know I'm right," Rachel said smugly.

"Okay, that's it," Mercedes moved to take her earrings off, ready to bitch-slap the Jewish girl with the overinflated ego, but a noise from outside stopped her. Shit, she knew that noise, and it was not good. She immediately dragged a hysterical Rachel to the wings, reassuring the brunette that they weren't going to die. No matter how much she told Rachel that they would be okay, she wasn't entirely sure if they would be. School shootings didn't happen in places like Lima, Ohio. The lights out on the stage suddenly seemed too bright, like they were blinding her. She closed her eyes, willing for it to be over, praying to God for a miracle. A familiar male's voice caused her head to snap up, and the next thing she knew, Finn was pulling her and Rachel towards the back exit and outside to safety. "Praise Jesus," she whispered.

"Mercedes," Tina came running up to her.

"Tina," she hugged her best friend. "I'm so glad you're okay." She took a step backwards; something was off with the Asian girl. "What is it?"

"I…I'm just shaken up, you know?" Tina was trembling.

"Well, do we know who's shooting in there?" Mercedes dared to cast her eyes over to the school, where the screams appeared to be dying down, although students and faculty were still streaming outside.

"No," Tina whispered. "And I don't know where Artie is."

Mercedes looked confused. "Artie? Are you two back together or something?" Tina usually told her everything, but in the past couple of weeks, she had been strangely distant and secretive.

"I…oh look, there's everyone else," Tina said lamely, trotting over to the rest of their friends. Mercedes stared after her for a moment; what was up with that? She joined the group of boys and girls, all talking at once, their voices overlapping in confusion, until Mike staggered up to them and pronounced that Artie was dead.

Mercedes couldn't believe it; Artie, dead? How could God be so cruel? How could He first take away a boy's legs, and then take away his life? How could only one fatality come of this horrible event, and it was one of her good friends? Try and pray as she might, she couldn't find the answers, and she never would.

She packed her bags and moved to L.A. upon getting a recording contract, although she wasn't sure it was the best of ideas, especially seeing how Tina had just given birth to a beautiful baby girl. She had been upset that Tina didn't tell her who the baby's father was at first, but when the girl broke down and finally told her the truth, she'd been understanding and sympathetic. Tina told Mercedes to go live out her dreams, since she couldn't live out her own. And so she left. It took awhile, but eventually, her career took off. She was even in an L.A. production of _Dreamgirls_, starring as Effie.

Mercedes did marry in her early thirties, and had a child a couple years afterwards. Occasionally, though, she would have flashbacks when she was in a room or a place with very bright lights. In her mind, she would hear the gunshots from outside the auditorium, her heart beating faster, Rachel's hysteric cries for help. She would feel dizzy, as if the lights were blinding her and she might pass out. She learned to cope with it, telling whoever was nearby that she just needed a moment to sit, where she would step aside and pray for strength to make it through rehearsals or the shopping trip or whatever she happened to be doing at the time.

And although she was living out in California, she'd take bi-yearly trips back to Ohio. Once in late summer, for Tina's daughter's birthday, and once in February, for the anniversary of Artie's death, where she'd go with Tina and Sunny to Artie's grave to lay a flower in his memory and to reflect on the times they spent together. She'd always remember how they'd goof off in the choir room, and how she'd joke that Artie was secretly black. And she'd never, ever forget the boy in the wheelchair.

_I always thought you were cool, you know that. You wait for us now, you hear?_

_Your sassy friend always,_

_Mercedes_


End file.
